


A Different Road Taken

by xXQueenofDragonsXx



Series: A Different Road [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF Carl Grimes, Canon-Typical Violence, Carl Grimes Lives, Carl Grimes-centric, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Carl Grimes, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Independent Carl Grimes, One-Eyed Carl Grimes, Sad Carl Grimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25963759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXQueenofDragonsXx/pseuds/xXQueenofDragonsXx
Summary: The Governor attacks the prison, but instead of escaping with his father, Carl Grimes escapes all alone. Injured but alive.He doesn't find his family, despite all his efforts. But he finds someone else.
Series: A Different Road [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884469
Comments: 29
Kudos: 46





	A Different Road Taken

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [From Whence we Came](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21032846) by [AtlasNerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlasNerd/pseuds/AtlasNerd). 



* * *

This can't be real. 

  
  
He keeps wishing, waiting, praying that he would wake up from this awful nightmare. It has to be a nightmare, doesn't it? There's nothing else it can be. After all the work they had done to make the prison into a home, to make it someplace worth fighting for, there was no way that this could be real. No way that he isn't just imagining the whole thing. 

  
  
But no matter how much he willed himself to wake up, to snap out of the shocked haze that engulfed his mind, not a single thing changed.

This isn't a dream.

  
  
Carl can do nothing but watch in a shocked silence as the place he considered his home - the place where his sister was born. A building that housed so many memories; some good, some bad, that his family made into someplace worth living, someplace worth fighting for - is destroyed at the hands of a madman. Blown up by some power-hungry asshole that had threatened and terrorized his family from the moment they had set foot into this place.

  
  
The ground shakes with another explosion, snapping Carl into action as blankets of dust and rubble pelt him from where he stands. He dives right into the rush of chaos, urging himself to go faster, his breath quickening and his knuckles turning white from the death grip he has on his gun. Walkers are coming at him from seemingly all sides, and he hardly registers what he was doing as he began shooting at them, urging himself to move past them and continue running.

  
  
He's not sure where his feet are taking him until he bursts into the inside of the prison. Darting down the halls in search of something - someone. He's not sure exactly who he's looking for until another explosion rings through the air.

  
  
Judith, he needed to get to Judith.

  
  
Focusing his thoughts on his little sister, he threw the cellblock door open, practically flying down the steps into the area he and his family had inhabited for the past year in his rush to get to his sister. Fear and adrenaline rush throughout Carl's veins as he finally reaches the stairs that lead to Beth's cell, the last place he had seen his sister before the chaos had started. He races up the steps and nearly falls to his knees in dismay when Judith is nowhere in sight. 

  
  
He darts into the cell, checking the small area for any sign of his sister. None of her things are here, and he could only assume that the little girl was safe with Beth. Even the giant backpack that Beth had put most of Judith's extra things in case of emergencies - much like this one - is gone, so it was his best assumption at the moment. Carl never felt as grateful to the older blonde as he did now.

  
  
The relief is short lived however, as seconds later, another explosion rocks the prison. Carl is thrown into the wall opposite of him, his head hitting the concrete hard enough he swears that he hears a crack. He lets out a gasp, slumping to the floor as his ears start to ring, and black dots begin dancing in the corner of his eye. His vision swims, and he shakes his head, trying to regain his bearings.

  
  
There's another explosion, smaller this time, and Beth's drawer - the one Glenn brought back for his sister-in-law during a supply run - is dislodged from the wall from the force of the blast and lands on top of his legs, and he can't help but cry out as a loud crack registered in his ears and pain engulfs him. The ringing in his ears only grows louder, and Carl tries desperately to move the object from on top of his legs. After a few moments of struggling, he gets one of them free, and with all the strength he could muster, kicks the drawer from off his other one.

  
  
As soon as he's free, Carl tries to pull himself to his feet, but it fails pretty quickly as one of his legs, the right one, collapses beneath him, and the teen gasps as pain shoots throughout it. He sits there for a few seconds before sparing a glance down at his leg. He averts his eyes almost immediately, cringing at the sight of the blood that was now running down it. Fucking hell, knowing his luck, it was probably broken.

  
But he would be damned if he was going to let a broken leg stop him. He was shot in the stomach, for Christ's sake. A broken leg was nothing on that, right? 

  
  
So, once again, with every ounce of strength that he could gather, his hands grip the table behind him, and after a few seconds of struggling, he pulls himself to his feet. He stumbles, but after a few moments, manages to stay upright. He leans on the wall, eyes scouring the cell around him and stills as the sound of gunfire starts up again.

"Fuck." He curses, shaking his head.

  
  
Carl limps back down the stairs and out of the cellblock, trying his best to ignore the overwhelming pain in his leg and sinking feeling in his stomach as he emerges back out into the open. His heart sinks when he notices the missing bus, no longer parked where it had been when the chaos had first started.

  
  
The walkers are quick to take notice of him, and one stumbles close enough to make a grab at him, and Carl barely manages to twist out of the way in time to avoid its snapping jaws. Carl's hands fly to his knife, and he's slamming it into the walker's skull before he even realizes what he was doing. Blood gushes out, spilling onto Carl's hands and shoes, and a few droplets land on his face. He reaches up a hand to rub the blood from his face, giving a displeased hum when he only ends up smearing it across his cheek.

  
  
Carl glances around, stepping back as the small but slowly growing crowd of walkers lurch toward him. His back hits the fence, and he reaches for his gun, cursing when he finds that it's empty.

  
  
He kills a walker that wanders too close with his knife, ripping his arm out of the grasp of another and shoving it away. His eyes scanned desperately for a way to escape, but it was no use. He was surrounded. Panic is now settling in, and his chest tightens as he continues to fight off the walkers. But it seems that for every walker he killed, another three appear in their place. He can't keep this up for long, but he has to in order to keep himself alive.

  
  
Just as he stabs another walker through the head, yet another loud explosion ripples across the prison. And with the walkers distracted by the noise, Carl sees his chance.

  
  
Turning quickly, Carl grasps the chain-linked fence behind him and, as fast as he can with an injured leg, begins to climb. The fence wobbles under his weight, but Carl holds on with all the strength left in his body. Carl can't fall because if he did, he would die, and it wouldn't be a quick death, either. Walkers were clawing and grasping for him, teeth snapping and eyes empty, and Carl only just manages to hold back a shudder.

  
  
He pauses once at the top of the fence to look around. But the sight isn't pretty. His heart seems to stop in his chest as he took in the remains of the prison, the place he once called his home. Walkers were everywhere, some faces unfamiliar while others... were not as much so. 

  
  
He scans the area, heart in his throat, hoping and praying that he isn't about to catch sight of a walker version of his Dad. Or Michonne, or Daryl, or Maggie, or Glenn, or Beth, or Judith. A small bit of tension leaves his body when he doesn't spot any of said people as walkers. He allows himself a quick moment of relief before the groans of the walkers below him, and the sound of gunfire brings him back to the present.

  
  
After doing a quick check to see if he still couldn't see anyone - which he can't - the teen launches himself over the fence, hissing in pain as the barbs sink through his clothing and into his skin before falling to the ground with a loud thud. His body screams in pain, and everything hurts - if possible - even more than it had before, but nonetheless, Carl forces himself to move. 

  
  
He had just managed to pull himself up to his knees when a heavy weight falls on top of him, shoving him back to the ground. Rotted hands latch onto his shirt, tearing into the fabric only a few inches from where his heart was. Carl's hands shoot up, kicking and punching at the body above him, trying to keep it as far away from his face as possible. He's only just managing to keep the things teeth from tearing into his face and neck, but he needs to find his knife if he wants to kill this thing. But to do that, he needs to let go of the walker, and he's already having enough trouble holding it off with two hands as it is.

  
  
His heart drops as two more walkers outside the fence begin to stumble toward him. He tries harder to push the first walker off of him, but it's no use. He's trapped. He's doomed himself to a slow and painful death. Just as one of the walkers reach him, an arrow is sent through its head with an ugly sounding squelch. Seconds later, another one goes through the skull of the walker on top of him.

  
  
He recognizes those arrows.

  
  
Carl's head snaps back, and for a split second, he sees Daryl in the prison's courtyard, staring at him with an indescribable look in his eyes. He's shouting something at him, something that Carl isn't able to make sense of before shooting another walker and running back into the chaos. 

  
  
He tries to yell for Daryl to come back, but no sound escapes from him. Carl is forced to snap out of his trance, scrambling out from under the walker's body, holding one of his arms to his chest, and checking hurriedly for any bite-shaped wounds on his body. Carl breathes a sigh of relief moments later: no bites, no scratches. At least one of his ribs were fractured, and his leg was more likely than not broken, but other than that, he was unharmed. 

  
  
He forces himself to his feet, hissing as pain shoots up his body. His leg nearly collapses beneath him once more, but he manages to stay upright, quickly snatching his hat from off the ground and putting it back atop his head.

  
  
His body is in total agony, and his ears are ringing. But he barely registers it as he begins dragging himself into the forest that surrounded the prison, into the opposite direction of the road where the bus was meant to go. Where his father and the rest of the group probably were, but he doesn't change directions. Doesn't even think about it. His only thoughts were to get himself the hell out of there, heal up, and find his family. 

  
  
So he fights through the pain, presses his hand to the wound on his side, and tries not to topple over as the exhaustion slowly takes control of his body.

* * *

Carl had long since lost track of how long he had been running for. It could've been seconds, minutes, hours, or days even, but he wasn't sure. The only things he's aware of are the walker's constant groaning, the pain in his body, and the sound of leaves crunching beneath his feet as he ran. 

Each step was agonizing, his lungs are burning, every breath was filled with pain, his body's aching, his leg is probably broken, and Carl was pretty sure he had a concussion, but he kept running, pushing through his exhaustion and pain so he could keep moving. He had long since left the area of forest that was familiar to him, and so he was in entirely new territory. 

Despite the distance already put between him and the prison, it made little difference in the growing amount of walkers that had been attracted to the noise from the battle, and Carl wasn't sure how many more they could continue to evade. If the black spots dancing at the edge of his vision meant anything at all, he didn't think it could be much longer. 

As if set off by his thoughts, his leg - the injured one - chose that moment to crumple beneath him, sending him toppling to the ground. He twists around at the last moment, keeping one of his arms wrapped around his fragile middle as his back hits the forest floor. The fall knocks the breath out of him, and he cries out, squeezing his eyes shut as the ringing in his ears intensifies. 

The groans of the walkers are louder now, and panic begins to bubble in his chest as they grow nearer. His eyes snap open - hazy, but he can easily make out the blurred shapes lumbering toward him. A cry of fear tears itself from his lips, and he begins to crawl backward. Desperately trying to put some distance between him and the dead. 

He scoots backward till his back hits the tree behind him, and his heart for a second seems to stop beating. Then, his hands slip, and he comes to the realization there is a small hollow under the tree. Without thinking, he crawls into it, scooting as far away from the opening as possible, his arms tightening around his body.

The arms of the dead reach in, but are unable to reach him. The opening was too small for them to fit through, and unless there was a child walker somewhere in the mix, he - for the time being - was safe. Still, he keeps an eye on the opening, his knife clenched tightly in his hand.

His leg is still pulsing with blood, and Carl absentmindedly tears a strip of his shirt off and wraps it around the blood-soaked wound. His blood was only serving in bringing more walkers in, and that was the exact thing he did not need at the moment. 

Eventually, the blood flow begins to diminish, soaking into the fabric until it turns to a faint trickle. The walkers outside the hollow didn't move, still snarling and hissing and trying to reach inside. But Carl pays them no mind, he's too far gone to even care. His ears are ringing, his head is aching, his chest is heaving, his vision is blurry, and the only thing on his mind is that he - as long as the walker's don't find a way in - is safe. 

For what felt like an eternity, he doesn't dare move, only staring up into the dark hollow, totally quiet as sleep began to take over, and the darkness engulfed his mind.

* * *

He drifts in and out of consciousness for the next two days. The only thing he could register during those brief periods of awareness was the groaning of the walkers and the pain that still swam throughout his body.

When he wakes sometime during the afternoon of the third day, Carl's injured leg is entirely unresponsive. It was puffy and swollen, and even attempting to move the limb was next to unbearable. Which did nothing to soothe his thoughts about it being broken.

Carl's jaw clenches, partially from the pain, partly from the frustration of this whole situation. A broken leg was the last thing he needed at the moment. In fact, every injury he had only added to the possibility of him dying if he didn't get medical attention or get to safety as soon as possible. 

Unfortunately, his only safe place had been destroyed. He didn't know where his group was, he was injured, tired, hungry, thirsty, and this whole forest was probably flooded with walkers. 

The only good news he had at the moment was that the walker's that surrounded the hollow he was in had mostly dispersed, there were only one or two out there now if the two pairs of shuffling feet said anything about it. He could only assume that most of the walkers that had been pursuing him had been attracted to the blood, dead bodies, gunfire, and explosions located in the direction of the prison, and had headed there instead, not that he was complaining, of course. The fewer walkers there were out there, the easier this would be.

He shifted slightly, biting back a groan at the stiffness in his body and then stared down at his leg. His knee refused to bend, but Carl wasn't about to give up. He placed both his hands on the ground on either side of him and lifted himself as best as he could. He manages to get his uninjured leg beneath his body quick enough, but as soon as he puts the slightest bit of weight on his other leg - pain soon overwhelms him, and he falls back to the ground with a pained yelp. 

There's a sudden snarl, and Carl's head snaps up, tensing as a walker's head appears in the small hole of the hollow. It shoves its arms through, its teeth churning and snapping, but is unable to reach him. Carl eyes it for a moment, listening as the second walker nears the hollow, drawn by its friend's groaning, and promptly takes out his knife - which he thankfully didn't drop - and stabs it right in the eye. He does the same with the other walker as soon as it pokes its head through the opening.

He stares at the two corpses for a few moments, blinking slowly. 

Well, that was certainly anticlimactic. 

* * *

As soon as he pulls himself out of the hollow, he cuts one of the corpses open and smears it's guts over his body, careful to keep it away from the still healing wound on his leg. The last thing he needs is to get an infection on top of everything else. 

After a few minutes of walking, limping really, he comes across a familiar road and nearly collapses in relief. He follows that road for the next few hours, only stopping when he nears an abandoned bag on the path. There's a corpse a few meters away, but there's already a stab wound in its head, so he doesn't worry about it turning. 

He finds a couple cans of food in that bag, accompanied by two bottles of water. He drinks half of the first bottle, eats the canned peaches from one of the cans, zips the bag back up, and swings it over his shoulders. 

He continues walking.

* * *

It takes him half a day before he comes across what looks like a suitable shelter. The sun was starting to set, and Carl needed someplace to stay if he was going to heal. 

It was a small cabin, and from the outside looked abandoned. There was a gaping hole in the roof, one of its windows was smashed, and its door was swung right open. It wasn't the nicest of places, but then again, it looked like how most buildings did these days, so there was no telling what was safe or what was not. 

Being cautious, he ends up circling the entire cabin first, looking for signs of people or walkers or anything familiar that might lead him back to his group. He finds nothing; no footprints, no weapons, just nothing. Only when he was satisfied that the outside was safe did he make his way inside. 

He knocked on the open door first, seeing if he could draw out any walkers. When nothing appeared, he took a step inside. 

It was dark, obviously, the only light coming from the doorway, opening in the roof, and the shattered window. Carl shuts the door behind him, bathing the area in even more darkness. The cabin was small, and the first room he entered appeared to be the main one. There was a couch and two armchairs in one corner and a kitchen in the other. Well, he thinks its a kitchen: if a single counter, an old fridge, and a stove that looked to be from the 1800s counted as a kitchen, that is. 

There was only one other door, leading to what he could only assume was a bathroom or bedroom. Whatever it was, the room was probably in pretty bad shape judging by the fact that the hole in the roof had been right above it.

Eventually, he has the little cabin as secure as he could make it. He boarded up the shattered window, got the bed/bathroom blocked up, and got a fire going. He raided the small 'kitchen' and only found two more cans of food, which he put into his bag. 

* * *

He spent the next four days in that cabin, mostly healing so he would be able to find his family as soon as he's better. He wraps up his leg with an old roll of bandages he found under the couch (how they ended up there he had no clue) and does the same to his ribs, which still ache like hell but was much better than it had been before. 

The only reason he doesn't spend another day in that cabin is because his impatience soon starts to get the best of him. Carl was anxious to try and find his family, and patience had never been one of his strong suits. So, he packs his bags, ate a little bit of food from the cans, had a sip of water, and left. 

As he walks, he found that his leg still hurt like hell, but it is much better than it had been before. After a few minutes, he finds a large stick in the forest and starts using that as a makeshift crutch. As an extra precaution, he also kills a random walker that he had stumbled upon and covered himself in its blood and guts. He knew that he is in no shape to fight with anything - dead or alive - at the moment, so this is his best, and only, solution. Well, that is unless he wants to stay in the cabin he was in, but as Carl already mentioned, he is way too impatient for that. Also, his supplies are running out, and he would need to find more eventually.

So he walks, and walks, and walks, and walks; desperately fighting back the exhaustion that was seeping into his bones as the hours wore on. He remembers seeing some train tracks a few weeks ago while on 'run' with his father, so he decides to head in that direction in hopes (albeit faint ones) of possibly finding someone he knew there.

As he walks, his mind begins to wander. He thinks of his home - the prison that had been destroyed by the Governor, and his family: his dad, Michonne, Daryl, Carol, Beth, Glenn, Maggie, Tyreese, Sasha, Judith... Oh god, was Judith even alive? She had been with Beth last he remembered, so maybe Beth had escaped with her? They are both probably on the bus then; that's good.

He had no clue about where his father could be - if he even was alive. The man had always been very protective of Carl, especially since Sophia, and hardly let him go off alone for even a minute. Carl had always hated the fact that his father did that to him. Hated that his father had insisted on treating him like someone who needed to be protected. But right now, all he wants is to find him again. Carl would and will take all the coddling in the world if it meant he didn't have to be alone.

It felt... weird, traveling alone. It isn't that Carl is scared, though he is a little, he supposed, but not a lot. Carl knows how to kill walkers, how to shoot a gun, how to use a knife, things like that. Carl knows how to handle himself, but he just felt so lonely. Before, Carl always had someone with him to talk to: Beth, Maggie, Glenn, Michonne, his dad, Daryl... and now that he doesn't, he starts to realize just how much he misses it. 

The sight of the trees thinning around him pulled Carl back into reality, and he picked up the pace slightly, ignoring the ache in his leg as he did so. Eventually, he caught sight of the treeline, and ahead of it, the train tracks. A small sigh left his body, and a weak smile appeared on his face. Oh, thank god, he felt as if he were about to collapse if he walked any further. 

He stops right at a small slope, the one that leads down to the train tracks. He eyes it for a few moments, searching for any movement in the area surrounding it, finding none, his shoulders slump with relief, and his eyes went to the sky. It was starting to get dark, he realizes. There is probably at least an hour or two of daylight still left. Carl shook his head in disbelief; he had started during the mid afternoon, which meant he had been walking for over six hours if he was doing his math correctly.

Had he really been walking for that long?

Carl looks behind him, into the trees, and then back toward the train tracks and darkening sky, a sigh escaping his lips. He doesn’t want to be still out and about by the time night fell: he was tired, hungry, and thirsty and just wanted to rest. He was exhausted beyond belief, and continuing to walk was not an option for him. And he was not going to be sleeping on the forest floor where anything could get to him despite how tired he was, no way in hell. 

Carl turns back toward the trees, eyeing them with great uncertainty as he weighs his options. While he knows his only other option was to sleep on the ground, he had never slept in a tree before either. Climbed them plenty, sure, but that was literally it. And he'd never done it injured either. He remembers Daryl saying he'd done something like it, but how the hell could he stay up there without falling to the ground and becoming a walker snack?

A rope, maybe? He doesn’t really have much on him, but he had a bit from what he scavenged from that old cabin. Heaving a sigh, he makes his decision, walking toward the nearest tree with hesitant steps. 

He pauses once he is at the trunk, staring up at it with narrowed eyes. Adjusting the straps of the backpack he found, he jumps up, grasping for the closest branch he could find and gasping at the pain that shot through his body. 

Carl grits his teeth, grabbing the branch with his other hand and pulling himself up. He repeats this for the next few minutes, climbing as high as he could before settling on one of the higher - and larger - branches. It was more like a nest of them, all clustered together in one spot. It only made Carl feel more secure, even if he was still a bit nervous about the fact he could fall to his death. 

As carefully as he could, the teen brings his backpack into his lap, unzipping it and taking out the rope from inside. After a bit of struggling, Carl manages to get the damned thing tightly wound around his waist and branch until he felt sure enough he wasn't about to fall. Wiggling around slightly, Carl relaxes as the rope stays in place. 

While lying there was still horribly uncomfortable, it’s no doubt the best he can do at the moment. And it doesn’t take long for his exhaustion to get the better of him either. Resting his head on the trunk of the tree, he closes his eyes, breathing in deep and letting the sounds of the forest surrounding him lull him to sleep. 

* * *

Carl was ripped from his sleep by the sound of loud groans coming from beneath him. He looks down, his hands immediately going to his knife. He scowls upon spotting the small group of walkers wandering around below. Carl counts at least five and could see a few others lurking in the trees around him. They hadn't seemed to notice him yet, but that could change if he wasn't careful. 

Thank god he decided to sleep in a tree the night before. But how the hell was he supposed to get out of this mess?

A small frown pulls at his lips, and he sits there for a few long moments, his mind racing before an idea comes to mind. Carl leans back, untying himself from the tree and wincing at the soreness in his body, probably his fault for sleeping in a tree, but he would much rather be sore than dead. He stuffs the rope back into his bag, shifting a bit before swinging it over his shoulders.

As quietly as he could, Carl began making his way down from the tree, praying that he wouldn't fall. None of the walkers seemed to pay much attention to him as he starts his descent, but that could just be because of the walker guts that still coated his clothes. They had mostly dried at this point, but he was pretty sure that dried walker guts wouldn't keep the walkers from noticing him if he tried walking around down there.

As if on cue, his foot slips, and he lets out a startled cry as his injured leg bangs against the tree, only just managing to hold on with the little strength he had left. One of the walkers let out a low snarl, head swiveling in his direction and stumbling his way. The others quickly followed. Soon enough, at least eight walkers were clawing at the tree trunk, teeth snapping as they reached for him.

Well, there goes his plan of getting away quietly.

Carl begins his descent once again, only stopping once he made it to the lowest branch. The walkers couldn't reach him from this point, seeing as the lowest branch on this tree was pretty high up from the ground. He had been annoyed at that fact the day before, as it had only given him trouble, but now he was just grateful.

Actually, sitting here gave him another idea.

Carl pulls out his knife, leaning down slightly and swinging it down, pushing it through the skull of the closest walker. It slumps to the ground, dead, leaving him sighing in relief. He repeated this process with the other six, leaving them all scattered on the ground, piled on top of each other. The last one was too small for him to reach from this point, and Carl felt his heart leap into his throat when he realized it was a kid walker. Around his age probably.

With a deep breath, Carl jumped down from the tree as far away from the kid walker as possible. He landed with a thud but somehow managed to keep his balance as his leg started screaming with pain from the exertion. The kid walker snarled at him, immediately lunging in his direction. Carl swung his knife at it, burying it into the walker's eye socket and wrenching it free once it went limp. 

He slumps against the tree, gasping for breath. Killing those walkers had taken a surprising amount of energy out of him, and he felt like total and utter shit. He swung his backpack around from his shoulders, unzipping it with messy hands and reaching inside, taking out one of the water bottles stored in there. He took a couple swigs, careful not to let the water drip down his face, his father's words about saving supplies lingering in his mind before twisting the cap back on. Carl wipes the sweat off his forehead, adjusting his hat and wiping the blood off of his hands as best he could. 

Actually, wait, he had a better idea...

He kneels down by one of the walkers, slicing it open with his knife. He grimaces as its insides spilled out at his feet but didn't hesitate to reach into the gory mess, rubbing it onto his arms before moving onto his chest and shoulders. It smells like shit, and he would much rather go without them; but he knows that he wouldn't stand much of a chance against more than a few walkers in his current state, so walker guts were the best way to go at the moment. When he starts spreading some of it onto his neck, he began to gag and, despite his best efforts, had him emptying whatever little food he had left in his stomach onto the grass. 

He let out a groan, his stomach churning in protest. He sits back, wiping his mouth and falling back onto his knees. Carl pries his knife out of the walker's open chest, tucking it back into his belt before reaching back in and grabbing a handful of intestines and guts. He smears them over his legs, careful of the still open gash on his right one. The last thing he needed was to get an infection of all things. 

After a few minutes of smearing the blood over the rest of his clothes and body, he gets up, stepping away from the walker he had gutted. Carl grabs his backpack, swinging it back around his shoulders. He pauses before picking up the stick he had been using as a crutch from where he left it on the ground the night before, placing it under his arm despite the discomfort it caused. 

Carl spares a quick glance around him, body tense as he listens to the forest surrounding him. Hearing nothing but the buzzing of the bugs and the chirping of birds, Carl starts walking - well, limping - in the direction leading to the train tracks. He made it there in a minute's time and began his trek once more.

He doesn’t go right onto the tracks, sticking by the treeline so he could make a break for it if needed. He wanted to stay out of sight, just in case. He knew all too well that not all people could be trusted, that they could hurt him or kidnap him or something worse. An image of the Governor swam into mind at that thought, and he shook it out just as quickly. He did not want to be thinking about that bastard right now. 

So he walks and walks and walks. Keeping an eye on the train tracks and a hand on his knife as he moved. He ran into a few walkers while he walked, but thankfully the walker guts did their work at disguising him, and he was able to walk past them without too much trouble.

It was sometime during the late afternoon when he spots the sign up ahead. He didn't pay much attention to it at first, but as he drew closer, a name written in red on the sign caught his attention: **Carl.**

He stops in his tracks, having to do a double take at the sign.

It... it says his name.

Carl's heart leaped right into his throat, and before he could register what he was doing, he starts to move toward it. He slides down the small slope he had been standing on, crossing the train tracks and moving toward the sign at the fastest pace he could manage. His heart was roaring like thunder in his chest, and it was taking every bit of self-restraint in him not to break into a run; Carl didn't need to damage his leg more than it already was.

Dimly he was aware of the map hung on it, as well as a series of crisscrossed lines with a yellow star pinned in the center, but his attention was drawn to other things. The other things being the words written in red - which was without a doubt walker blood - on the sign. 

**Carl, get to Terminus -- Rick and Michonne.**

His eyes then stray toward the words a little way up, carrying a similar message.

**Glenn, go to Terminus -- Maggie.**

Carl's eyes went wide, and without realizing it, he fell to his knees. The stick he'd been using clattered down next to him, and his leg screamed in pain, but he hardly registered it as he read and reread the sign multiple times, almost expecting it to disappear in front of him. As soon as it realized that he wasn't hallucinating like he first thought he was, relief washed over him like it was a tidal wave. 

A laugh escaped his lips, and then another and another until he was laughing hysterically in the middle of the tracks, he probably would look insane to anyone who might've seen him, but he honestly couldn't give a damn as of now. 

His family was alive. 

For the first time since the prison fell, he smiled. 

His family was alive.

* * *

There, stretched out in front of him like an art piece on display was a large complex of fire-blackened brick buildings. There were various fires set all over the place, and the damage didn't seem to be from just any fire, but an explosive one at that, and it clearly caused a lot of damage to the building. Despite all this, he was still able to make out the words written across the windows that washed away any doubts about where he was. **TERMINUS.**

Carl feels that whatever frail hopes that he still clung to sink away like a piece of driftwood in a storm. Great gray plumes of smoke rose from the supposed safe camp, the place where his family said to go, and nothing good came from smoke. 

The smoke billowed high above, twisting and twirling in the sky. The mere sight of it made Carl want to turn away and flee, and the scent of it made him gag.

Once, the place might've been as large as the prison had been. The buildings were probably as big as it was, but the chain-link fence didn't cover nearly as much land as the prison's fence had. Walker's wandered aimlessly around the place, not a single living person around to attract their attention.

Carl was perched safely at the top of a tree, eyeing the destruction beneath him through a pair of binoculars he had found while scavenging. Through the lens of the binoculars, Carl surveyed the scene.

He didn't linger long on the walkers, they were nothing new, the only striking thing about them was the number of them there was. No, Carl focused on pretty much everything else; the buildings, the boxcars, the torn and trampled down flowerbeds that might've once decorated the place.

He climbs down from the tree, killing a walker that wandered to close, covered himself once more in its guts, and went closer. If there was a chance that someone he knew - someone he loved - had made it in there...

He wasn't going to leave without knowing for sure.

Getting in wasn't too challenging. The walkers ignored him thanks to the guts that covered his body. The fire had pretty much reduced everything there into ashes. But as he drew nearer, there was something that continually caught his eye among the blackness.

Bones.

Human bones.

And a whole lot of them. Inside and out. 

Carl crouched by a pile of the bones, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He adjusted his hat before leaning down and scrutinizing the bones more closely. 

He wouldn't be too surprised if some of these were walkers who got burnt in the fire. But there was something about the bones that unsettled him. A lot of the bones were separate from the bodies, hacked from the main skeleton with a blade of sorts.

The realization dawned on him moments later.

They were butchered. 

He froze, standing up and staring around at the burnt camp. At the hundreds upon hundreds of human bones that surrounded him: rib cages, skulls, legs, arms...

This hadn't been a safe place, this had been a trap. Carl could see what happened clearly in his mind: they advertised the building as a camp of safety, lured people in here with their signs all around the place, killed, and ate them until something happened that killed them all. 

He stared at the bone around him: the smaller ones that belonged to children, the older ones that belonged to adults, these people had come here looking for a home and had found death in its place.

And Carl's family was most likely among them.

* * *

He stopped looking after that.

He simply wanders. He goes from building to building, town to town, forest to forest. Just surviving with no goal in mind as he did so.

He crosses the state border and ends up in Tennessee soon enough. And even then, he doesn't stop walking.

* * *

Around two months passes before he joins another group. 

He was running out of food. Animals are scarce, and he knows that canned foods won't stay around forever, soon enough they will be all gone, and he'll have nothing to survive on. And he knows that he won't last long if he doesn't find something to eat.

He walks along the side of the road, sticking to the treeline once again so he can make a quick escape if the situation ever arises. He stops occasionally, and he's crouched behind a car on the side of the road, trying desperately to open a can of beans that _just won't open,_ when he hears the steady crunch of gravel somewhere down the road that was accompanied by voices.

He looks up, startled, before pressing himself flat against the road, peering under the car as the group approaches. They don't notice him, seeing as he's hidden behind the car, but he notices them. Four men, five women, and two children. A little girl and a little boy, around eight or nine years old, if he had to guess. They looked a bit tired, but not starving, and if the giant duffel bags that each of them were holding said anything about it, they had supplies and a whole lot of it too.

He lays there for a few seconds, eyebrows furrowed as he considered his options. If he ignored them, he would be hungry and alone, with nobody to have his back. He might die from walkers or starvation, but he wouldn't be under the risk of being shot in the face.

But if he went with them and they were friendly...

He stands up, calling out to them as he stood. They spin around, some aim guns at him as soon as they see him while others wield knives, but when the group notices the state of him: the ribs visible from under his shirt, the blood staining his clothes, and the bags under his eyes, they falter. 

After a few seconds, one of the women calls him over. Asking his name, and he gives it to them.

And after months of surviving on his own, he found a group.

* * *

He eats well that night, and the next, and the next, they bandage up his leg, allow him to heal up, and soon enough, he starts going on supply runs with them.

It feels almost normal, and for a few moments, he's able to forget all that has happened. 

* * *

One of the women there is only a few years older than him and seems to have taken a shine to him. And despite all of his attempts to push her away or ignore her, she doesn't stop talking to him: she smiles, flirts, and jokes with him, and it leaves Carl blushing and confused as hell. 

Carl isn't sure how to respond to this attention at first, but soon enough, he starts answering back. He flirts, laughs, and jokes with her, making her blush and laugh until one night she takes him by the hand, drags him somewhere away from the group, and it doesn't take him long to realize why.

That was the first time he had ever done anything with a woman, and it wouldn't be the last time either.

* * *

One of the men in this group reminded him a lot of Daryl: quiet, gruff, a hunter, a survivor like him.

After a few days with this group, the man pulls him aside while everyone else is chatting and working and teaches him how to drive.

"I don't care that you're still a kid," he says, flicking him on the forehead, "you're old enough to learn this shit, and if you ever end up alone or separated from this group like before, you need to know how to do something other than walk."

After that, the man teaches him how to hotwire cars. And after that starts taking him into the woods to teach him how to track and hunt. Carl masters these skills in a matter of weeks, and soon enough, he is able to do more than just scavenge.

He's able to survive.

* * *

It's hard to pinpoint when things start going downhill. But if Carl had to choose, he would say it was some point during the winter.

It had been a few months since he joined the group, and around a full year since he's seen his family, and food begins to become scarce. Snow begins to fall, animals are going into hibernation, and the ones that don't are thin as sticks, plants start to die, and the people start to grow restless.

The first one dies on a supply run, Darcy: weak from lack of food and desperate to eat something makes a risky and stupid move and ends up unable to overpower the one walker that attacks her. It rips her throat out just as Carl and two others round the corner. 

The next one dies from heartbreak, Varian: who had been in love with Darcy for as long as Carl's been with the group shoots himself in the head later that night. 

Two more succumb to starvation: the little girl, Annabelle, and her mother, Jane.

The remaining eight were heartbroken by this turn of events, but Carl is the one who puts the mother and daughter down before they can turn.

It's nothing new, after all.

* * *

The little boy, Daniel, is bitten while out playing with his father. He clings to Carl, sobbing and begging for him to do something while Carl is forced to watch, completely helpless.

And when the time comes, Daniel looks up to him, tears in his eyes, and asks him to sing him a song.

So, with tears running down his face and heart in his throat, he nods. 

_"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..."_

* * *

They come across a treehouse a few weeks later and set up camp there. The only occupant in a cat, who hisses at them upon the group entering before promptly being shot by one of the men, much to a few other's dismay, and there was food in the cabinets, granted, not a lot, but despite this, they eat well that night.

They stay there for a week, and by the end of that week, there are only three of them left. 

They had, once again, been on a supply run when one of them, Harold, had been bitten. He didn't tell the rest of the group and ended up turning in the middle of the night, efficiently killing most of them.

The only reason Carl lived was because he had been sleeping on the opposite side of the room as him, and so, had enough time to get up after the newly turned walker chose a victim.

The remaining three bury their lost before promptly setting Harold's corpse on fire and leaving it to rot.

They leave the treehouse soon after.

* * *

Another few months pass by in a predictable manner.

Hunt, cook, eat, refill their waters, sleep, wake up, and repeat.

* * *

The only ones left with him are the man who taught him how to track, drive, hotwire a car, and hunt, while the woman is the mother of poor little Daniel. Clint and Elizabeth are their names.

The three of them were cooking dinner when they heard it. The sound of footsteps headed their way. They exchange glances, shrug, grab their knives and wait for the walkers to arrive in the clearing. There's no use in going into the woods, they could wait for the walkers to come to them. It was safer that way. 

But instead of detecting the groans of walkers as the footsteps neared, they heard a voice. 

"Well, well, well, look what we got here, boys." 

Clint grabs him almost immediately, ripping him from his comfortable seat on the ground and shoving Carl behind him. Elizabeth darted to the spot next to Clint, the both of them standing in a defensive position in front of him, Carl can't help but feel slightly annoyed at this, he may be a kid, but he's not defenseless. 

His hands move to the knife holstered on his thigh, gripping it tightly as the footsteps continued to march their way. Clint moved backward until Carl was pressed against a tree, hidden behind the other man's large frame.

When Carl tries to protest, the man sends him a glare. "Stay behind me at all times, got it?"

Carl quiets and gives a reluctant nod, keeping his hand on his knife as Clint and Elizabeth point their guns into the woods, scanning for whoever had spoken.

A few seconds pass by when a man steps out from behind the treeline. His hair was short, graying, and blonde, with a beard growing on his face. He held his hands up in a mock surrender, and something about him just screams: "danger!" But despite this, neither Clint nor Elizabeth shoot.

A few more men wander out from the trees surrounding them, and a feeling of uneasiness washes over Carl. How long had they been there for, had they been watching them?

They were all smiling, chuckling quietly to one another as they moved behind their leader, the first man who had appeared, the one who had spoken.

The leader takes a step closer to them, his smile only widening. Elizabeth raises her gun a little higher, aiming it toward the man's head, Clint did something similar, pointing his rifle toward another one of the men instead. Carl's eyes scan the area around them, trying to see if there were any more in the trees surrounding them, for all he knew, these men could only be distractions.

"Now, now, put those guns down." The man says to them, his voice low and slimy--it was like the ones you would expect to hear villains use on TV shows. It causes a shiver to run down Carl's spine. "We don't want to cause you lovely folks any trouble, we just want to talk."

Clint and Elizabeth don't lower their guns. 

The man frowns at this, clicks his tongue, and creeps closer, holding his hands a little bit higher, a smile once again forming on his face. 

"My men here," he gestures toward the group behind him, "just need some food. We've been goin' hungry for days, mind sharing?" The man didn't look very hungry to Carl, and neither did any of his men. They looked pretty well fed in Carl's opinion.

"Don't look all that hungry to me," Clint responds, his eyes picking up on the same things Carl's did.

The man shrugs, "hunger always takes a little while to show on people."

The man holds a hand out to Clint's chest as if expecting the other man to shake it. Clint scowls, bunting the head of the rifle against the man's chest and forcing him back a bit. The man is close enough to see Carl now, watching the altercation with nervous eyes, and sends him a wide grin from over Clint's shoulder.

It sends a chill down his spine.

"That your son?" The man asks. Carl sends him the meanest glare he could muster.

"Yes," Clint responds without missing a beat, "he is, now what do you want?"

The man sniffs, placing a hand over his heart as if offended. "Well, if you can't spare any food, can you at least let us sit by the fire. It's quite chilly out here."

"Go make your own damn fire," Elizabeth snaps, and the man's gaze moves to her.

"Should tell your wife some manners," the man says.

"She can say whatever the hell she wants," Clint responds. They weren't married, but Carl knew that it would be safer if these men thought they were.

The man rolls his eyes before nodding to one of the men in his group. "Marcus, go get us some firewood, will you? This fire looks like it might go out at this point."

One of the smaller members of their group disappears back into the woods while the others set down their bags and begin to move closer.

The man settles beside the fire, the others doing the same around him. Clint, Carl, and Elizabeth stay standing.

"My name's Abel, what about you fine folk? You got names?"

"Yeah, we do."

There's a silence.

"Where you from, before this all, I mean."

Clint sends a look over his shoulder, glancing at Carl. "Atlanta," he responds.

"Oh, really? Never been, what's it like?"

"Destroyed," Carl piped up from behind Clint's shoulder. "Infested with the dead."

"Really? Well, that's a damn shame." 

The man--Abel? Carl decided he didn't want to call the man by his name. Anyways, he clasps his hands together, shuffling his feet closer to the fire. Closer to the hare Carl had shot earlier that day, still roasting on the fire. He sends the man an annoyed look, which is promptly ignored as Marcus reappears with a pile of wood in his arms. 

He dumps the logs onto the fire, careful of the meat still hanging there. The sound echoes throughout the forest, and the noise causes Carl, Clint, and Elizabeth to flinch back. None of them were fans of loud noises. They only ended up bringing walkers.

"Please," the man says, "sit down, we'd love the company. Haven't seen anyone new around here in weeks." He was gesturing to the spot closest to him, smiling at the three of them. Carl realized with a start that the man started staring at him. 

Elizabeth and Clint exchange glances, looking back at Carl for a split second before nodding. The message was clear, at least to Carl: they needed to stay here for a little bit, humor Abel and his men before getting the hell out of there as soon as the chance arose. Carl hoped it rose quickly, he didn't get a good feeling from these men, and he knew Elizabeth and Clint felt the same.

So, reluctantly, the three of them sunk down to the floor. Clint had a hand on Carl's back, holding him close to his side while Elizabeth did the same on Carl's other side. Carl would usually be annoyed by this, but right now, he could only feel relieved.

"So, what's your name, son?" The man asks Clint.

"Why do you care?" Clint snaps, keeping his eyes on where Abel sat.

"Ah, we're playing that game then, alrighty then." He shakes his head, resting his hands over his knees.

His eyes slid over to Elizabeth, and then over to Carl. "And what about these two? They're an awfully pretty pair, aren't they, you're a lucky man, I'll give you that." His eyes slid back to Clint. "The kid talk at all?"

"Yeah, when he wants to," Carl snaps, his hand clenching the handle of his knife even tighter. Clint sent him a warning look, but Carl ignored it.

"Ah, feisty. That's a good thing to be, especially in this world." The man said, a grin on his face.

Elizabeth tightens her grip on Carl's shoulder, tight enough to bruise, but Carl doesn't stop her.

The silence went on for a few long moments. It was a tense, suffocating silence that made you feel as if you were drowning. Carl hated it with a fiery passion, but he wasn't about to start talking to these men. He would sooner shoot himself than do that.

Elizabeth stood up suddenly, her eyes narrowed and blonde hair frizzy. "I think we'll be going now. Right, Clint?" She sends a smile toward the leader, obviously forced. "I hope you all have a nice night."

Cint stood up, pulling Carl up with him. 

The men stood up too.

The leader tsked, shaking his head. "Now, now, there's no need for that. Don't make this any harder than it already is, it'll only end badly for you."

Clint pushed Carl once again back behind him, his gun once again aiming at Abel's head. "We're going."

The man just smiles, "no, I don't think you are."

Everyone seemed to move at once. The men lunged forward, reaching toward them, and one of them, the bigger one, snagged Elizabeth by the arm and pulls her out of Clint's grip. She falls to her knees, her gun going off and hitting one of the men in the shoulder. Clint shouted something to them, raising his rifle and standing in a defensive position in front of Carl. 

"Come on, don't be like that." 

Elizabeth was dragged forward, hissing, spitting, and kicking with all her might. She kicks one of the men in the face, and the man jumps back just as Clint's gun goes off. The sound takes them all by surprise, and Carl watches with wide eyes as the man crumples to the ground, a gaping hole in between his eyes.

One of the men snapped out of his surprise and raised his gun. Clint shoved Carl back and cried out.

"Carl, run!"

* * *

Carl ran. He ran as fast as he could into the trees and out of sight.

There was a gunshot, and something whizzed right by his ear, embedding itself in a tree somewhere to his left. There was shouting, and then the sound of footsteps running after him. The sounds of the fight faded, drowned out by the rapid beating of his heart, his desperate gasps, and the twigs and leaves crunching beneath the heavy boots of the man pursuing him.

"Get your ass back here!"

Carl wove through the trees, his lungs screaming from the effort. He darted to the right, before going back to the left, trying his best to confuse his pursuer. The man swore from somewhere behind him, but despite Carl's best efforts, the footsteps were gaining on him at a rapid pace. 

Carl felt his heart leap into his throat. The man is yelling and swearing from behind him, so much closer now than when he first started. Carl may have gotten the headstart, he may be fast, and in shape, but he is exhausted, hungry, and has much shorter legs than the man following him. Carl's only fifteen, after all, this man is much older. 

Carl kept running, but to where? He didn't know where to go, but he had to lose him somehow, he had to unless-

A hand catches him by the arm, yanking him back so hard that Carl hears a crack. 

Pain explodes throughout his shoulder, and with an enraged yell, Carl exploded into a frenzy of hurried kicks and punches, trying hard to strike his attacker wherever he could. The man holds on with a bruising grip on Carl's arm and begins to drag him back, and, both desperate and terrified, Carl twisted in his grasp and sunk his teeth into the man's hand. Blood flooded into his mouth, and Carl bit down harder as the man began to scream.

The man released him with a pained cry, staggering backward and clutching his injured hand to his chest. Carl didn't waste another second before taking off again, darting further into the forest without a second thought of what might lurk there.

Carl didn't register the sound of a gunshot until after the bullet hit him. Pain explodes throughout his face, and he crashes to the ground. Carl sucks in a breath of cold air, his hands moving to the right side of his face where blood began to gush out onto his hands. His vision starts to swim, but he can't pass out, not now. 

He tries to bring himself to his feet when a hand grabs him by the elbow, yanking him back. Carl began to kick and thrash, but his movements were weak and sloppy as blood started oozing out of the side of his face. One of his hits manage to hit the man's groin, and the man released him with a strangled cry of pain. Carl collapses back into the forest floor. He gasps in surprise, the breath whooshing out of him. 

"Are you fucking kidding me? I swear to god I am going to-" 

He stops, and it takes Carl a few seconds to realize why. 

Walkers emerge from the treeline, a whole lot of them. The man swore, going for his gun. It clicks, out of bullets, and one of the walkers lunges forward, sinking its teeth into the man's throat. It dragged him down, kicking and screaming, and more walkers fall to their knees, quickly joining in on the feast.

Carl forces himself to his feet, black dots dancing in the corner of his vision and his ears ringing. The walkers are quick to take notice of him, and they stumble forward, moaning and teeth snapping. 

Carl does the only thing he can think of at the moment.

He runs.

* * *

The gaping hole on Carl's face continues to bleed as he runs, the blood running down his face and neck and soaking into his shirt. The wound itself was throbbing, pulsing with each heartbeat. It hurt like hell, but it was far from the worst thing Carl felt. 

But despite him continuing to tell himself this, he could feel his body start to shut down. Black dots in the corner of his vision, going in and out of focus, and the ringing in his ears wouldn't go away. 

He could feel the hopelessness of the situation start to creep up on him. His eyes (or his remaining one) starts to burn, and tears soon begin to fall, soaking in with the blood and trickling down the side of his face. He wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and cry, but he wasn't about to give up now, not after everything he'd done to survive in this world. Not after everything he went through to stay alive. He had - no, he needed to keep going. He needed to find Clint and Elizabeth if they were even still alive at this point. 

But... he was so, so, so tired. 

Carl stumbles as his feet hit the roots of a tree, but somehow he manages to stay upright. He has a hand pressed to the wound on his face, trying to stop the blood from flowing with little success. A sob tears itself from his lips. 

Carl stops, slumping against a tree, his legs finally giving out. He closes his eyes. All he needed to do was catch his breath, then he would keep going. 

A growl sounded in the distance.

His heart leaps back into his throat, and he drags himself to his feet, forcing himself to keep moving. He wasn't running anymore; he didn't have the energy for that. He fought for every step, the blood loss clouding his mind and hindering his every movement.

The walkers were everywhere: they smelled his blood, they were coming for him.

Oh god, he was going to die, wasn't he? In the middle of the woods, all alone and surrounded by walkers. 

Another sob forces itself from his throat, and he doesn't bother trying to hold it back. He was going to die anyway, so why should he bother?

He looked around desperately, trying to find a way out, somewhere to hide, but he couldn't find anything. He ducked right as a walker's arms went right over his head and pressed on. But it seemed everywhere he went there were walkers, shuffling toward him with outstretched hands and hungry groans.

Oh god, they were everywhere. 

His foot slipped from underneath him, sending him toppling to the ground with a cry of pain. This was it, wasn't it? This was the end, he was going to die out here. The smell of rot engulfed his sense, and he cringed, bracing himself for the feeling of teeth ripping into his throat, tearing into his flesh and-

The walker closest to him fell to the ground with a thud, a knife lodged into its skull. Carl stared in shocked silence, confusion washing over him.

"Grab the boy and let's go!" A low, gruff, and unfamiliar voice snarled from somewhere to his right, it was accompanied by the sound of another walker's body falling to the ground.

"Get your ass up, kid, we gotta go!" Another voice snapped at him, equally as unfamiliar. Seconds passed, and Carl faintly registered the sound of cursing before he was being lifted up in the air into a pair of strong arms. 

Carl spares a split second to wonder who these people were before darkness began settling in his mind, and the world goes black.

* * *

He wakes up in some sort of camp, a bandage wrapped over his face, and a person wearing a mask made from walker skin a few feet away. 

Later, Carl is introduced to Alpha, who stares at him with a cold look in her eyes before welcoming him to the Whisperers.

A few days pass, and he goes back to where he, Clint, and Elizabeth were attacked, only to find their dead bodies spread across the ground, their heads lying meters away, their teeth snapping when Carl comes into the clearing.

He finds the men who did it a few days later, and Alpha steps back so he can put a bullet through each of their heads. 

Years pass, and Carl Grimes turns into Delta, fourth in command of the Whisperers and one of Alpha's most trusted. 

Years pass, and when Lydia gets captured, so does he.

Eight years pass since the fall of the prison when Carl finally sees his father again, perfectly alive and healthy, with a scowl on his face, and holding a gun to his head.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a little plot bunny I had in my mind for a long while. I've been reading a lot of Savior Carl Grimes and I kind of just went, "Hey! what if instead of joining the Saviors, he joined the Whisperers!" And this was made.
> 
> I have written a sequel to this that is currently still going. It is called, “A Long Way Home,” and it takes place around seven or so years after this.


End file.
